


🍆

by CGotAnAccount



Series: The ADVENTure Continues! [19]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Matt has Terrible Ideas, Shatt, Shiro is along for the ride, Terrible joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: Deep space exploration has always been Matt Holt's dream.He just never thought he'd have to do so much pointless schmoozing to actually get there.
Relationships: Matt Holt/Shiro
Series: The ADVENTure Continues! [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034982
Comments: 18
Kudos: 38





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**Author's Note:**

> Day 19 of ADVENTures!

Deep space exploration has always been Matt Holt's dream.

He'd grown up playing with little toy shuttles and doing calculus for fun, stargazing in the back yard with his family... then he'd managed to earn a place in one of the most prestigious space academies in existence, setting himself on course to make his dream a reality – visions of finding life and super cool alien babes dancing through his dreams at night.

He just never thought he'd have to do so much pointless schmoozing to actually get there.

Against all bets, Matt is actually pretty terrible at brown nosing – bullshit is more his forte, something with a little more flavor than 'boot leather.' Needless to say, he isn't exactly winning many friends among top brass despite being the kid of one of their best scientists and the most technically skilled navigator of anyone in the facility, objectively.

Which is why it's fortunate that he has managed to sucker one very human babe into being his social buffer, his partner in crime, and his enthusiastic bed warmer. The last one had been more than a little hard to believe – despite his incredibly healthy ego, Matt had been more than a little skeptical when Shiro first expressed any interest that extended beyond needing a navigator. He even briefly entertained the idea that Shiro was making overtures specifically to capture Matt as his permanent flight partner – before coming to the conclusion that the guy is like a giant golden retriever and probably couldn't conceive of a plot that devious without weeping about it for the next several days and blurting the truth out to Matt at his earliest convenience. He once watched him hunt down and apologize to a janitor three days later for walking on a freshly cleaned floor with dusty boots instead of taking the long way to class – not exactly Snidely Whiplash material. But it turns out the golden boy has a competency kink a mile wide, and Matt happens to be quite good at what he does.

It doesn't hurt that Shiro also has a thing for wrapping his hands all the way around Matt's skinny waist, instantly validating every time he's decided not to go to the gym or eat nasty protein crap. Apparently he just happens to tick all of Shiro's very specific boxes... and it's not like he's going to turn down this absolute beefcake with a heart of gold and an intellect to rival his own. Shiro's the only person in the state that he'd bother to hold a conversation with that he isn't related to.

And that dick is absolutely magic – bends space and time, has already sent Matt to the astral plane, pretty sure he's experienced zero g, _magic._

Which of course, has nothing to do with why they're showing up to tonight's awful grin & shake event just a little bit late and a lot bit disheveled. He'd already had his stupid button down halfway on when Shiro came out of the shower all dripping, and he wasn't _not_ gonna suck that dick... but he's always been a messy eater, so then he had to change shirts, and of course Shiro wanted to reciprocate – and his meticulous habits certainly extend to all aspects of his life.

It's definitely not their fault though, whoever approved the request to dorm together should have seen this coming a mile away.

(He's loud enough you can certainly _hear_ them a mile away.)

Iverson greets them at the entrance to the Super Secret Fancy Officer's Lounge where they serve food that doesn't come out of a can that's been frozen since the invention of dry ice. His usual scowl is fixed firmly in place, like if he lets it slip even a little he might accidentally unclench enough for the stick to slide out of his asshole.

“Shirogane... Holt.” He nods at them in turn, mouth pressing into a thin line as he takes in the mussed hair and probably swollen lips. “Fashionably late, I see.”

“We got a little lost, sir.” Matt blinks up at him, all wide-eyed and innocent like he's never been in his life. “My navigation skills only work in a shuttle I guess.”

Shiro's half-bitten snort is an ugly thing, contorting his face into a manic grimace that Matt adores. Terrible jokes always have been his kryptonite... which gives Matt the worst idea he's had all day.

What better way to make the evening more tolerable than a little fun?

“Hrrrm.” Iverson shakes his head and steps aside, allowing them entry into the swanky digs that they've been hiding from the rest of the base. It's almost criminal how fancy everything is – he wonders how much of the R&D money that's supposed to be building his toys goes into buying these big-ass wooden chairs and their crushed velvet upholstery... probably more than what goes into furnishing all the cadet dorms put together. He's seen Keith's room, the place looks like a rejected set from a post-apocalyptic bunker movie – one of these gilded plates could probably get that kid a feather bed and maybe his bony ass would finally take a nap.

Unbelievable... organizational grifting at its finest. The next time he's chewing on some three year old chunk of rubbery meatloaf he's going to remember this injustice and hope the rage raises his body temperature enough to cook the bacteria out of it. If he didn't have to suck it up and brown nose like a fucking asshole to cement his place on missions he'd be making it his life mission to burn the entire place down.

Shiro seems to be having similar thoughts judging by the flicker of disdain across his face as he surveys the room – but he's always been the poster boy, the one who's good with people and stomping down unwanted emotions. Probably comes with that whole 'gonna die young' thing. Either way, it serves him well when he steps forward to shake hands and kiss babies, smiling with those perfectly white teeth as Matt clings to his shadow on the edge of the initial pleasantries. Generally, as long as he stays close when Shiro is saying hello, people tend not to realize that Matt never did. He can't really blame them, Shiro has that dazzling effect on a lot of people.

It's a small crowd this time, meaning that he doesn't have to wait quite so long before slinking up to the opulently set table and sliding into his seat – helpfully marked with a name tag like he's back in first grade.

“What's on the menu tonight then?” Matt asks, not bothering with the first round of ball-licking before gathering the intel he's been dying for. It was a hard sell to get them to pass up spaghetti night in the cafeteria – probably the hardest meal to fuck up that they serve. “It smells divine in here.” At least that part isn't a lie.

“Baked eggplant parmesan,” Officer Montgomery answers him when it becomes apparent that Iverson isn't planning on it.

The horrible thought in Matt's mind takes root, the seed of bullshit germinating into an all around terrible idea.

“Eggplant?”

Shiro's head turns toward him slowly, catching Matt's angelically curious expression with a look of smothered panic. Matt imagines it's what a squirrel must look like when it has to decide whether to abandon the nut in the face of an oncoming car.

Too bad for him Matt is both the nut _and_ the car in this scenario.

Montgomery glances up from her tablet with a look of mild confusion. “Yes... the vegetable?”

“Oh,” Matt nods, bringing a hand up to stroke his chin as he turns to Shiro with a bland smile, “Isn't that nice? They've learned how to turn eggs into plants now!”

Shiro gurgles in response, teeth sinking into his lip so hard it's a wonder he doesn't begin to bleed.

The tablet hits the table with a thunk.

“What?”

“You know,” Matt presses on, his face the picture of placid interest as he turns back to Montgomery, “that science has reached the point of transmuting animal matter into plant matter faster than the composting process... it's neat.”

Her jaw slowly drops open as he talks, like maybe he's grown an extra head.

“Junior Officer Holt... have you never had eggplant?”

“I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to sample our newest technology yet, ma'am.”

Shiro's exhale sounds like a pinched balloon.

Iverson saves him for further scrutiny as he stomps back over, leading the poor kitchen staff toward the table. “Right over here is fine.”

Trays of food get plunked down onto the table as the poor harried staff rush to escape his scowling – the quality and variety makes Matt instantly glad that they're here instead of slurping down borderline spaghetti. There's a whole big pot of baked mac and cheese that Shiro looks like he's about two seconds from diving face first into, enough mashed potatoes to build an accurate diorama of the local weather patterns, and some sort of meat piled onto a platter and smothered in gravy. And, of course... the eggplant parm.

The other officers flock to the table, each snagging a chair and digging in without waiting for any special speech – apparently today isn't that kind of party. Matt snags the giant dish of mac and cheese and loads his plate high before passing it off to Shiro, who can't quite reach while maintaining decorum. It's worth it for the look of utter adoration – and he'll need the goodwill soon enough anyway. He takes his time with a second plate, loading up with a morsel here and there, aware of Montgomery's eyes on him.

“Hmmm, what's this?” He makes a show of poking at the eggplant parm, cutting a little square to investigate the cross section. “Purple inside... is it jelly?”

Conversation around them trickles to an incredulous halt.

“...you're joking.” Montgomery squints at him, trying to suss him out – but Matt has spent years cultivating his poker face, no stiff-backed suit is gonna crack him. “Holt, that's the eggplant.”

“I see.” Matt nods as he peels it back layer by layer. “I'm glad to see they removed the shell component entirely.”

Shiro chokes on his mac and cheese.

“What?” Officer DeSantis is boggling at him now, clearly listening in, “What do you mean, shells?”

“From the egg.” Matt shrugs at him and makes a few more delicate cuts, holding them up for closer inspection. “It appears to be entirely organic plant matter... incredible.”

The table goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop, quiet enough that Matt can hear Shiro taking a slow inhale, counting to ten before he releases it. He knows that if he were to look over now Shiro would lose his shit and it'd be all over, so he continues to aim his blandest smile at the rest of the table.

Of course, Iverson does _not_ like that.

“Holt... what are you on about?” he grunts, clearly aggravated at having his dinner interrupted by nonsense.

“This new plant sir, I was just telling Officer Montgomery how impressive it is that they so accurately synthesized the proteins from the egg into something that appears to be wholly organic plant matter – truly a scientific marvel.”

He lets his smile grow by a few molars just to watch the vein begin to throb in Iverson's forehead.

“What are you _talking_ about.”

“He's...” Montgomery shakes her head as she turns to her commanding officer in disbelief. “Sir, he's never seen an eggplant before.”

“Bullshit,” Iverson grunts, stabbing his fork viciously into the pile of meat. “I'm not in the mood for your games today, Holt.”

“Sir?” Matt knows his eyes are as wide as saucers now, endearing and innocent – a look he and Katie have spent hours practicing with each other. “I apologize, I only meant to compliment the kitchen on their seamless integration of culinary technology.”

The table rattles with the force of Shiro's knee banging into the under side as he succumbs to a coughing fit.

“Are you alright?” Matt turns to him, face slipping into something wicked as he nudges Shiro's glass of water closer to him. “Did you find a piece of shell in it? It could've been made near the eggplant.” Shiro coughs harder, slamming a fist into his chest. He's crying, trying desperately not to look at Matt. “You should be careful around new food.”

“Holt!” Iverson barks, totally unconcerned that his best pilot is maybe choking to death, “What did I just say?”

“I'm not sure I understand, sir.” Matt shakes his head, raising his hands in surrender before tipping his palm toward the eggplant parm. “I've never seen it before – is it not new?”

“God _dammit_.” The table rattles again as Iverson slaps a palm to it, nearly upending his glass of wine. “You expect me to believe that you, the son of one of our best horticulturists, has never seen an eggplant?”

“I'm sorry, sir.” Matt shrugs again, widening his eyes as far as he can. “I'm afraid I took after my father.”

“Montgomery, fix him!”

Officer Montgomery cringes, but flips her tablet over and taps on it for a moment, then tips it over for Matt to see a picture of a big purple eggplant.

Matt slaps a hand to his mouth, scandalized. “Sir, isn't that a little... inappropriate?”

The dying seal next to him lets out another wheeze – barely muffled by a bite of mac and cheese. Matt is going to owe him so many favors... maybe he'll have eggplant for a midnight snack too.

Officer DeSantis looks like he's about to faint on the other side of the table – cheeks so red he could be auditioning to be the tomato sauce in this dish. “Holt...”

“I'm sorry sir,” Matt shakes his head, making the sign of the cross and then folding his arms, “I've seen how the cadets use these in their messages... I had no idea we were eating something so lewd. My mother would not approve.”

The only sound in the room for a solid moment is Iverson's heaving breath – like a man who has either just run a marathon, or is considering homicide. Matt is pretty sure he's incapable of the first option, and hopes there are too many witnesses for the latter.

“Junior Officer Holt,” he begins, voice graveled and dangerous, “if I hear one more word of your bullshit you will regret it for the rest of your career.”

Matt can feel Shiro still beside him, can feel the stare boring into the side of his head as his favorite person pleads for his life.

“Apologies, sir.” Matt swallows hard, weighing the next words on his tongue as Shiro holds his breath. “I'll make sure to research the menu ahead of time for our next meeting.”

It's not... _technically_ his bullshit, and Iverson knows it. Matt can tell by the rhythmic throbbing of the vein in the side of his temple that he's trying to figure out a way to drown Matt in his own brain fluid... joke's on him, Matt's pretty sure there isn't any fluid left up there after Shiro tried an Immelmann turn today during their test flight – his brain's been spun out like an old washing machine.

“ _Holt._ ”

“Yes, sir?” Matt chirps back, then stuffs a bite of eggplant parm in his mouth with a look of pleasant surprise. “Oh, this is delicious!”

Montgomery is blinking at him in morse code, but Matt is too busy with his best cow impression to translate it. The other officers down the table appear to be afflicted with various symptoms of shock and awe, which is fine, he tends to have that effect on people.

Iverson's fork bends in his hand before dropping to the table with a clatter. The scrape of his chair echoes even with the tapestries on the walls to muffle the sounds of government funded revelry.

“I'll be in my office if anyone has any _professional_ matters to attend to.”

And then he's storming to the door, wrenching it open, and slamming it with what is definitely not a huff.

Matt continues chewing placidly, turning to Officer DeSantis with a smile. “Have you tried this new eggplant stuff yet? It's great.”

Shiro's head thunks down onto the table with a wheeze. Matt is _definitely_ going to owe him some eggplant later.

_Incoming message from (Dad): Matt, why is Commander Iverson asking me about your nutritional history?_


End file.
